


You Shot Me Down (Bang Bang)

by ElDiablito_SF



Series: Vegas Verse [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 21:04:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19776376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: The Vegas Verse side-fic that no one asked for is here at last!  Now you get to find out the sordid details of how Eleanor and Miranda hooked up during that murder investigation.  Spoilers:  it was fast!





	You Shot Me Down (Bang Bang)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellel/gifts).



> Written for Black Sails Rare Pair Week - Femslash Friday woohoo!
> 
> And for Elle who is in love with Eleanor in this verse <3

Eleanor Guthrie turned the volume ever so slightly up on her Pandora app, enough to drown out Rackham’s monologue on the pitfalls of leaving your girl in the company of _lesbians_ , but not quite enough to miss the deep baritonal hollering coming out of Teach’s office when he unleashed unexpected commands like a full complement of cannons upon the unsuspecting populace. She rummaged in Flint’s drawer for some Tums which she knew her partner always kept on hand to combat sudden onslaughts of indigestion, and popped one in her mouth in lieu of a mint. She really needed to go grocery shopping, but the lowlives of the Vegas metropolitan area apparently didn’t care how fresh her breath was, or the last time she ate a vegetable, or whether she had any clean underwear left.

She didn’t. Which was fine because panties were for cowards anyways.

Eleanor sighed and continued combing through Hornigold’s phone records. It wasn’t fair. Why did her part of the job have to involve late nights and future myopia when Flint was probably at Silver’s right now, getting his dick wet? (She hoped that’s what he was doing anyways. _God_ , her partner needed to get laid.)

“Guthrie!” Teach’s voice sailed over the chords of Fall Out Boy’s _The Phoenix_. “In my office!” _Put on your war paint_ , indeed. Eleanor sighed, turned off the music, and followed Teach into his office to face whatever music he had in mind.

***

“You’re diligent, you’re smart as a whip, you’ve got leadership material written all over you!” Eleanor blinked. “Now close your mouth and wipe that shit eating grin off your stupid face before you make me emotional!” Eleanor swallowed and did as she was told.

“Th-thank you, Sir?”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Teach said. “You still have to pass the Sergeant's exam, which means you’d better get studying.”

“But, Sir,” Eleanor bit her tongue. It was always different for women, wasn’t it? You always had to jump higher, run faster, hit harder than every other asshole just to be given 80% as much. She couldn’t wimp out now. “It’s just that… We’re in the middle of this Hornigold investigation. I’m not sure how much bandwidth…”

“Guthrie, how old are you?”

Eleanor raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “That’s an inappropriate question… Sir.”

“Right you are,” Teach nodded affably. “Decades younger than me, I venture. When I was your age, I had the energy of six of my current selves! If you’re gonna push yourself, now’s the time. Now, get out of my office, and start studying. Flint can do his own heavy lifting on this one.”

She opened her mouth to ask something else but immediately closed it. She wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and then act like a baby and cry about it. Even if the thought did go through her head - _Shit, shit!_ \- if she became a Sergeant, Teach would surely split her and Flint up.

And _that_ sucked balls.

***

Eleanor’s eyes were beginning to cross and she figured no amount of blue light filtering would save her from the impending insomnia and the nightmares that would haunt her if she overcame that particular obstacle as well. The practice question on the Sergeant’s exam that she had been staring at for the last five minutes began to come out of the page at her, like one of those fucked-up psychedelic paintings that suddenly turned into dinosaurs or spaceships or some such shit when you stared at them long enough.

_As a patrol supervisor you respond to a street incident where one of your subordinates has requested your appearance. When you debrief your subordinate, the following facts emerge:_

_\--Tondelayo complains that she was assaulted and robbed._  
\--Tondelayo identifies Roger as the perpetrator.  
\--Roger, who is present at the scene, denies the allegation  
\--Tondelayo is bruised and bleeding, is excited, and had been drinking.  
\--Tondelayo maintains that Roger committed the crime.

 _You advise your subordinate to arrest and search Roger. Which of the following is a valid statement re: this arrest?_  
A: It was not legal since Tondelayo had been drinking and Roger denied the allegation.  
B: It was legal because Tondelayo unequivocally identified Roger.  
C: It was not legal since Roger made no effort to leave the area and thus there was no probable cause.  
D: It was legal since the statement made by Tondelayo provided at least reasonable suspicion that Roger committed the crime.

What the fuck. Eleanor rubbed her eyes and pushed her laptop away. She was pretty sure the answer was B and that the “had been drinking” was a red herring, but all she could really focus on at the moment was the fact that “had been drinking” was an enviable state to have been in. Also, did they have to call the perp fucking “Roger”?

“Detective Guthrie,” a voice as smooth as scotch summoned Eleanor from her misery. “Eleanor.”

Eleanor automatically sat taller in her chair, smoothing a stray lock of hair that had escaped from her ponytail and tucking it behind her ear. “Counselor,” she smiled widely at Miranda Barlow. "How can I help?"

“Burning the midnight oil, I see?” Miranda had a somewhat disheveled look about her, an artfully disheveled look, if Eleanor may say so. Her finely tailored jacket was hanging over the crook of her arm, the top buttons of her blouse unbuttoned to allow Eleanor a peak at her long neck and the way that her simple yet stylish necklace rested against her collarbones. Her hair, usually swept up into a smart chignon, now hung loosely about her shoulders.

“Studying, would you believe,” Eleanor pointed helplessly at her computer screen. “The true and woeful tale of Tondelayo and Roger, who villainously assaulted her.”

“Sounds riveting. And in this woeful tale, will you get your man?”

“I _always_ get my man, Counselor,” Eleanor grinned. “Or woman. Let’s not be sexist.” Miranda leaned against Eleanor’s desk, resting her bag and jacket against Flint’s empty chair. “Luckily these are merely hypotheticals for my Sergeant’s exam. My boss seems of the opinion that I’ve got gumption. And what can I do for you tonight?” Eleanor asked.

“Truthfully, I was hoping to catch James. Lieutenant Flint.” Miranda tucked a lock of her own hair behind her ear, which gleamed under the weak fluorescent lighting of the office with a tasteful diamond stud.

Eleanor frowned. "I hope not to convince him to leave our main suspect alone?”

“John didn’t do it!”

“You’re awfully emotionally involved in your client’s life, Counselor.”

“Call me Miranda, we’ve been over this.”

“You’re awfully emotionally involved in your client’s life, Miranda!” Eleanor slammed her laptop closed. Roger and Tondelayo could fuck themselves.

Miranda merely smiled down at Eleanor with a serene expression on her face. “That may very well be, but I’m not wrong. John Silver is innocent.”

The slight flush of her skin and the way she seemed to sway a bit towards Eleanor was signal enough that Miranda had probably come to the station straight from a bar. That feeling of envy jolted through Eleanor’s own tired limbs again.

“Well, if you buy me a drink, Miranda, I might even let you bend my ear about it.”

After a beat during which Miranda appeared to be solving a complex mathematical equation in her head, she finally said, “Do you know a place we can go?”

“Not looking like _that_ I don’t!” Eleanor motioned towards Miranda’s business apparel, in which she would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb at any dive Eleanor personally enjoyed frequenting.

“How about my place then?” Miranda straightened up and pulled her phone out of her bag. “I have excellent wine at home, and it would probably be best if we were not seen together in public. For propriety’s sake. I'll call a Lyft so you don't need to drive.”

Eleanor grabbed her leather jacket, throwing it loosely about her shoulders. “Lady, I like the way you roll.”

This promised to be a much more pleasant evening than what Teach had intended for her.

***

Miranda Barlow owned fucking fish. “Hullo Wanda!” Eleanor tapped on the aquarium, warm and giggly from the wine, and enjoying a little private joke with herself. The wine _had_ been excellent. Normally, Eleanor would drink anything but piss, not really able to afford to seem too “girly” or “uppity” with her fellow police officers. But this… this was _nice._

“You really enjoy being partnered with him, don’t you?” Miranda was saying from somewhere on the couch, where she for some reason insisted on failing the Bechdel test. “He pretends not to care sometimes, but I know him well enough to tell he counts his blessings to have been partnered with you after Hal retired.”

What were they talking about again? Eleanor’s eyes drew a confused line up the exposed skin of Miranda’s calf, the delicate mother-of-pearl flash of the pit of her knee, the decidedly delectable shadow of her thigh. Oh yeah, Flint.

“I do,” she said, taking another sip of the wine to fortify herself. “He’s like the gay dad I’ve never had but always deserved, you know?”

Miranda laughed, her head falling backwards and exposing the stately column of her neck to Eleanor’s indelicate gaze and unladylike thoughts. _Hnnggg_ , to be exact.

“Would you believe James and I lost our virginities to each other?”

“No!” Eleanor fell upon the couch, close enough to brush Miranda’s knee with her hand, but far enough not to faceplant into her heaving bosoms. “You and Flint fucked?”

“He wasn’t Flint as you know him yet, then,” Miranda reminisced, her head propped up by her bent arm. The point of her elbow close enough for Eleanor to lean towards and bite. “He was a very sweet boy then. A bit of a short temper, always. But protective. And a proper gentleman. I felt safe with him.” Miranda’s fingers untangled from her own hair and reached towards Eleanor as if in a dream. “A girl wants to feel safe sometimes,” she said.

“If you were my woman, I’d fucking kill for you,” Eleanor said. And _that_ was a bit forward. So, she cleared her throat and shook her head in the hopes that wine, time, and the universe might somehow erase the words from having been uttered.

“You come on strong, Detective Guthrie,” Miranda’s smile spread across her face like cream. She leaned towards Eleanor, her breath sweet with wine and promise.

“I just wanted to say that I’d protect you,” Eleanor muttered, suddenly self-conscious, and unable to take her eyes off Miranda’s lips. “That you’d be safe with me. I can take care of you. I mean…” She closed her eyes. “I’m making a fool out of myself,” she said.

“A rather irresistible fool at that,” Miranda’s whisper tickled Eleanor’s lips. And then Miranda was kissing her, soft yet firm, gently enveloping her lower lip to suck it into her own mouth. “And perhaps, Detective, tonight you should let _me_ take care of _you_.”

Miranda’s hand was already on Eleanor’s breast, thumb stroking gently against the hardening nub of her nipple. Eleanor whimpered helplessly, aroused and outraged out of her mind. How the hell did this woman do this to her, when _she_ was the one who was supposed to be doing all the seducing around here? Eleanor surged forward into Miranda’s kiss, her tongue boldly requesting and finding access into Miranda’s mouth, soft whimpers turning into moans of desire as their bodies pressed closer together.

Eleanor’s shirt was flung off and landed somewhere on the kitchen counter, which was impressive by all accounts.

“Should we… bedroom?” she managed.

“I can have my way with you right here,” Miranda breathed out against the seam of Eleanor’s bra, teeth pulling at the fabric to expose the dark flesh of her nipple. Her eyes were huge, dark pools of desire, and Eleanor found herself incredibly turned on to be looked at like that. Like something Miranda wanted to devour. “You’re so beautiful, Eleanor,” Miranda said as her hand pulled down the zipper of Eleanor’s tight jeans. “The way you went after me during Silver’s statement? I wanted to throw you down onto that table at the station and fuck you until you screamed my name.”

“Well, you, um…” Eleanor chuckled helplessly. “Certainly didn’t show any of that! Consummate professional… that you… are.”

 _Fuck!_ This was like being in the eye of a tornado. Eleanor had been party to a passionate tryst or a few in her day, with boys and girls alike, but the way Miranda was looking at her, touching her? Like there was nothing else in the world she wanted. And Eleanor wasn’t used to being looked at like that. By anyone.

Miranda’s clever fingers had in the meantime discovered that Eleanor hadn’t been wearing any underwear. _Oh yeah. Shit._

“Why, Ellie, you naughty little minx.”

“Would you believe I missed laundry day?” Eleanor said with a mortified blush. But then Miranda’s head was rapidly descending down the line of her body, probing tongue and fingers finding their way to her clit, at which point, Eleanor figured, she didn’t need to be coherent for the foreseeable future.

***

Eleanor woke up to the smell of proper coffee and fried eggs, her stomach rumbling in an acute reminder that she couldn't recall the last time she had a proper meal that didn't have donuts representative of all the food groups. A soft caress touched her naked shoulder, the scrape off Miranda's nails, followed by the warm press of her lips into Eleanor's skin.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Miranda whispered, nuzzling gentle kisses into Eleanor's neck.

"Mmmm, is that for me?"

"Breakfast in bed," Miranda's giggle tickled Eleanor's ear. "The food is for you. I'll take seconds." Her hand slipped between Eleanor's thighs, finding her already wet.

"A girl can get used to this," Eleanor signed, reaching for the coffee while letting her legs fall open for Miranda.

"I like it," Miranda said, her tongue lapping around her own finger, "The taste of you. The way your face looks when you cum."

"Knew you'd be bossy in and out of the sack," Eleanor said, pulling Miranda's hand back between her legs. "But can you take it as well as dish it out?"

"Come back tonight and find out," Miranda replied with a feral grin.

Eleanor reached for the eggs. She was definitely going to need to fortify herself if she was going to be spending anymore time with Miranda Barlow, Esq.

***

_When can I make you breakfast again?_ read the text on Eleanor’s phone once she finally had a moment to check her messages. She grinned up at her own reflection in her bathroom mirror.

It had been a long night, and surely Miranda would be on her fifth dream by now. After she and Flint had followed the Douche to the Douchestash, they headed back to the station in order to get the pilfered chips to the lab for processing, and then spent about an hour arguing over the least glamorous part of police work, i.e the _paper_ work.

“What are you gonna write in there? You can’t tell them where those chips actually come from!”

“But the stake-out was fully authorized,” Flint was attempting to rationalize his foolishness.

“Yeah, sure, but are you really going to draw them a fucking treasure map and everything?”

“Are you suggesting I withhold pertinent information in this investigation, Guthrie?”

“I’m just saying,” Eleanor attempted to explain, rummaging in Flint’s desk for more Tums, “that the less people know about the stash, the better. I mean, we don’t know if Rogers has anyone on the take on the force.”

Flint was giving her one of those looks that her own father never gave her. It was a look of pride and Eleanor had blushed to the roots of her ponytail.

They finally ended up making up a cockamamey story that kept close enough to the truth while not giving away any of the more salient details about Dufresne’s misbegotten goods. The earliest they’d get the fingerprints back would be the next morning. Then they’d have to wait for a judge to sign off on the wire-tapping warrant. But they were close now, she could taste it.

Although, in fairness, that taste may have still been the Tums.

Eleanor rubbed her tired eyes and pulled her hair out of the rubberband holding it back from her face. The mail she had thrown haphazardly onto her console lay there like an insurmountable task. A purple envelope peeked out from beneath a pile of bills, and Eleanor pulled it free. The cheerful stamps claimed to be hailing from Aruba. Eleanore tore the envelope open with her thumb and pulled out a card that pictured three attractive female rumps sporting colorful string bikinis.

“Well, at least he knows what I like,” she muttered to herself as she opened the card to read her father’s message.

_Happy birthday, Eleanor!_

That’s it. He couldn’t even be bothered to sign it. And she was now 27, which felt… Ancient somehow. Her late twenties, _adulthood_ , and what had she accomplished in this time? She didn’t even have a cat. Although she did have this bitchin’ leather jacket. She wondered if this was what they called a quarter-life crisis. If that wasn’t a real thing, she was hereby inventing it and claiming it as her own.

And Flint. She also had Flint. He counted on her, he trusted her, which was way more than could’ve ever been said of Richard Guthrie, who had somehow never forgiven Eleanor for not having been born with physical rather than metaphorical balls.

She glanced down at her phone again. _When can I make you breakfast again?_ Eleanor snorted. And Miranda - she also had Miranda. She grabbed her keys off her coffee table and headed out the door. She was still in her 20’s. She’d sleep when she was dead.

***

“Ellie, you almost gave me a heart attack…” But Eleanor shut Miranda up with her lips, shoving her bodily back inside her posh apartment and kicking Miranda’s door closed behind them.

“Sorry, babe,” Eleanor exhaled between kisses. In her defense, Miranda’s rumpled hair and sleep-puffy eyes were turning her on beyond all reason. Miranda was so _warm_ and naked underneath her silken black robe with the lotus trim, and she smelled vaguely of something edible, like coconut oil, or pumpkin spice.

“Are you all right?” Miranda asked, holding Eleanor’s face between her hands like a fragile Easter egg. “You haven’t even been to bed yet, have you?”

“We had a break in the case. Maybe.” Eleanor bit her lip. “There was a thing and… I can’t tell you about it, but… Also it’s my birthday. Well, it was, like five days ago. I think my father forgot and just sent me a belated card.” She sighed, taking Miranda’s hands into her own. “With asses,” she added.

“Oh, darling…” Miranda’s body was pressed against Eleanor’s again, fingers carding soothingly through Eleanor’s hair. “That’s appalling.”

“That’s just the way he’s always been,” Eleanor admitted.

“Come to bed.” Miranda voice had been gentle, almost a supplication, and Eleanor found herself nodding and kicking off her shoes. She was certain that it must have been Miranda’s idea to sleep with Flint when they were teenagers. She was a very difficult lady to say anything but ‘yes’ to. “But first we’re going to sleep.”

“If you say so,” Eleanor yawned.

“I’m usually much more up for it in the morning, anyways,” Miranda said as she fell backwards into her own sheets.

Eleanor climbed in after her, her clothes in a pile by the foot of the bed, and burrowed into the warmth of Miranda’s arms.

“You smell like McDonald’s,” Miranda exhaled against Eleanor’s hair.

Eleanor was already drifting off, but she did manage to find Miranda’s breast and squeeze it apologetically. “Mmm, sorry.”

***

“Sorry again,” Eleanor muttered once breakfast in bed and other afternoon delights had been served. She had forgotten it was Saturday, but now that Miranda had reminded her, she was happy as a clam. And the clam was damn pleased!

“For what?” Miranda asked, staring at the ceiling as she lit a sizeable joint and passed it to Eleanor.

“For showing up like that last night. And for bailing on our date because of this stupid case. And, generally, for being such a disaster.”

Miranda flipped over onto her stomach, her breasts partially obscured by the cascade of her deep chestnut hair. “Ellie, you don’t ever have to apologize for doing your job… or being yourself. I happen to rather _enjoy_ your company, disaster or not.”

“Yeah, but you’re high, Counselor.”

“I’ll have to find creative ways of shutting you up if you keep putting yourself down like that, Detective,” Miranda purred into Eleanor’s ear.

“Anyways, now that it’s the weekend, I guess I can make this up to you. A make-up date,” Eleanor beamed.

“Oh, so like a proper date?” Miranda laughed, taking the spliff from Eleanor’s lax fingers again. “We can spend time together outside of the bedroom?”

“It won’t be as fun, but…” Eleanor shrugged.

“I’ve been waiting to have an excuse to go check out Lost Creek Canyon,” Miranda said dreamily.

“You mean like… hiking? In nature?”

“I’m a bit of an amateur photographer,” Miranda explained.

“Yeah, but we can also stay here, and you can take pictures of _my_ canyons and valleys instead,” Eleanor suggested with an eyebrow wiggle. Miranda laughed, her fingers brushing in circles against Eleanor’s shoulder, tracing invisible patterns into her skin. “But if that’s what you want to do, babe, Lost Creek Canyon it is.”

 _Damn_. This woman had some fucking pull on her if she’d just agreed to go hiking without so much as a genuine fight. What if there were coyotes? Eleanor would have to bring her piece.

“You’re the best, hon,” Miranda leaned in to brush Eleanor’s lips with her own. “You won’t regret it. I hear it’s gorgeous out there.”

“But that’s tomorrow. In the meantime, I think you should practice taking dirty pictures of me.”

Both women laughed, the kind of giggle that makes one realize one might be getting a wee bit high, which only precipitates more giggles. Eleanor reached for the joint, about to take another inhale when her phone chirped.

“Shit, I think it’s Flint.”

“He really doesn’t understand the concept of a weekend, that poor man,” Miranda declared dramatically.

Eleanor looked at her phone in disbelief. “Teach pulled a judge out of bed on a Saturday morning and we have our warrant.”

“For what, hon?”

“I can’t tell you,” Eleanor’s face soured again. “Sorry, Miranda…” She bit her nails nervously as she read through her texts. “I’m so sorry, babe, I really gotta go. But we’ll go hiking tomorrow, okay?”

“Ellie, you can’t be serious? You’re too high to go to work right now!”

“It’s just listening to a wiretap, I can totally do that high! Oh, shit, I shouldn’t have said…”

Miranda pulled her close, licking her way deftly inside Eleanor’s mouth, kissing her so thoroughly that for a very intoxicated moment Eleanor forgot where she ended and Miranda began.

“Don’t forget about tomorrow,” Miranda said, kissing her again, more chastely now as she reluctantly pulled away.

***

Eleanor was looking through the glass window in the door of a hospital room through which Flint had disappeared. The curtains were drawn backwards, so when she glimpsed the tenderness with which her partner held the unconscious man’s hand, she felt as if she’d been intruding and looked away. The coffee in her hand had grown cold, yet she didn’t have it in herself to throw it away. It had, after all, been a gift from Miranda.

Miranda, whose hand was a grounding presence against Eleanor’s shoulder. “You should get some rest. There’s nothing more for us to do here.”

When she had called Miranda to tell her that Silver had been shot and Flint had been successfully rescued from his inconvenient kidnapping which would ruin their hiking trip, a part of her thought she was just calling out of duty. Miranda would want to know, as Silver’s attorney. Miranda would want to know, as Flint’s best friend. But now, looking at Miranda in the glaring hospital light, Flint and Silver separated from them as much by the door as they were by whatever veil of unity had descended over them, Eleanor had to allow for a wholly different thought. She had called Miranda because she wanted Miranda there with her. And Miranda had stayed - for _her_.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Eleanor mumbled, downing the cold coffee, which somehow still managed to burn her throat with acidity. Where were Flint’s Tums when you needed them? “I know you came over for them, but it meant a lot for me having you here.”

“You know I didn’t just come for them, right?”

Eleanor’s smile was almost shy. “Yeah… I know.”

“You saved the day, Ellie.” Mirand leaned into her. “You deserve to sleep the sleep of the triumphant. And anything else you want, you’ve earned it.”

Eleanor beamed to the very corners of her eyes. “Do I get the girl?”

Miranda leaned closer, one hand cupping Eleanor’s cheek to bring their lips together in a soft caress. “You already had this girl. You know that too, right?”

“Can’t hurt to make sure.”

Miranda snaked her arm through Eleanor’s as they began the slow walk towards the hospital elevators in companionable silence. They passed Max Nassau and Anne Bonny on their way, but Eleanor’s brain was far too exhausted to make heads or tails of whatever conversation Miranda had with the two women. She was more than thrilled that this investigation could come to an official close, because she would certainly enjoy socializing with these ladies later, now that they were officially no longer suspects, along with their friend John Silver.

“Where to?” Miranda asked as they stood in the parking lot.

“I think I just… need to sleep for the next 48 hours,” Eleanor admitted. “You can only go on caffeine and adrenaline for so long.”

Miranda hummed softly. “Mmmm, and you’re in your late twenties now, so no longer a spring chicken.”

“Hey!”

Miranda seemed to find herself incredibly amusing, and had Eleanor been less tired, she might’ve have found her at the peak of entertainment too.

“I’ll take you to your place,” Miranda was saying as they got into her car. “But please text me as soon as you’re awake and I will bring you some food. I know you’re just as bad as Flint at taking care of yourself.”

“So bossy,” Eleanor muttered, flushing with secret pleasure.

Miranda pressed her ignition button and the car came to life beneath Eleanor, the hum of the motor softly lulling her to sleep. The radio came on, playing Melissa Etheridge’s _Come To My Window_ , and Eleanor found herself humming softly as she drifted off. She didn’t really know the lyrics, but she supposed it was in her DNA after all.

***

_I’m awake._

_Good. I missed u._

_I didn’t miss you - you were in all my dirty dreams._

_I think u should move in with me._

_I’d say yes but Rackham will never let me live it down with his U-Haul jokes._

_I don’t get it._

_Ask Flint to explain it to you._

_OK but u should still move in._

_LOL. Sure._

The End

**Author's Note:**

> If you actually read this - I need to know :)


End file.
